Blest by Blaise Lucey Read Free Book Online Page B

time!”
    Gritting his teeth against the shooting pain in his back, Jim followed his dad and Mr. Webb into the hall, looking around the eerily empty school, the trees and field and track all gray in the rainy night. This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare. He had been kissing Claire. He had been in her room and feeling happier than he had ever felt. And now . . . now . . . this night had taken an extreme turn for the worse.
    “Why . . . are we here?” he groaned through another splinter of pain across his shoulders.
    Just like his dad, Mr. Webb gave him the silent treatment. They walked toward the lab at the other end of the hall. It felt like it took an eternity just to get there. Each step made the pain get worse. He had never felt anything like this. Jim wondered if he was going to die.
    When he got to the doorway of the lab, Mr. Webb ushered them inside, toward the supply closet where he had gotten the frogs for Claire and Jim earlier that day. Maybe yesterday. It had to be close to midnight now.
    “Jim Blest, at last,” Mr. Webb said, ducking into the closet. “I knew it was your time, you and the others. I can always tell.” Taking halting steps, still leaning heavily on Michael for support—though his father hadn’t said a word for quite some time—Jim walked into the closet.
    The closet was huge, almost like an underground bunker. There were science supplies dumped into boxes, beakers and Bunsen burners and other tools twinkling in the light, and shelves full of books. There was another locked door at the back of the closet, which Mr. Webb opened with a key. “Come on,” he said, as he led them down a hunched cement tunnel. It was an underground bunker, Jim realized.
    The tunnel opened into a space that was more cave than room, shining bright with white lights. Rusted pipes poked out of the ceiling and rustier machines leaned against the wall, with beeping screens that reminded Jim of old arcade games. The cement walls were blanketed with photographs. Some of them Jim recognized as famous pictures of UFOs, the Loch Ness monster, Bigfoot. But a lot of them were of shapes of people against the sun or floating in the sky, like they were flying or something. It kind of reminded Jim of his room, and his painting on the water tower. Just a lot creepier.
    In the center of the room stood a long, metal operating table next to a big X-ray machine. His shoulders exploded, like his muscles were on fire, and he screamed. Michael looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to deal with him. Mr. Webb’s thin lips lifted in a smile. “Wow,” he said. “They must really be coming in.”
    “They?” Jim managed, trying not to pass out.
    “Here, here.” Mr. Webb helped Jim up onto the operating table. “I can give you something for the pain.”
    Jim closed his eyes, struggling to sit up straight and eventually giving up and lying on his side. “What are you going to give me?” he asked weakly. He stared around the cavernous room, his eyes traveling over the photos and the machines. “What is this place?”
    Mr. Webb jabbed him in the arm with a syringe. Jim inhaled through his teeth. The pinch of the needle felt like a flick of a finger compared to what was happening to his back. Slowly, the pain receded to a dull burn. He exhaled slowly.
    “Good, that’s good. Just breathe,” Mr. Webb said reassuringly. He pulled up a stool, sat down in front of Jim, and proceeded to peer at him through his thick glasses, like Jim was one of the frogs.
    Jim waited, but Mr. Webb kept staring. “Um . . .” He looked to his dad, but Michael had started patrolling the walls, looking at a big collage of pictures. “Would somebody please explain to me what’s going on?”
    Mr. Webb brightened. “Easy, Jim. You’re an angel.”
    Jim stared at him blankly. Mr. Webb beamed back at him, as if that was all the explanation needed.
    “Your mom and I were angels,” Michael said, his low voice echoing from where he stood against the